


fight me, bite me

by gdgdbaby



Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Getting Together, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-12 13:05:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18447170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: "We're gonna start thinking you have some anti-vampire shrine set up at the new place if you keep this up," Tommy says.





	fight me, bite me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [persuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persuna/gifts).



> persuna: this wasn't technically in your requests in as many words, but you said you liked ot3 dynamics and classic tropes and aus, so i hope this fits the bill!

When they met at the White House, one of the first things Lovett learned about Jon and Tommy was that they were both from Massachusetts. In retrospect, the Dunkin obsession should've been an obvious clue. The second thing he learned was that the Salem Witch Trials were actually about vampires.

"That's not what the history books say," Lovett said.

Tommy had sent him a withering look, and Jon had shrugged. "Can't believe everything you read in those," he returned, grinning. It had taken Lovett a while to realize that Jon wasn't genuinely implying that he'd always passively accepted every element of his education, that he'd never questioned historical sources, that Jon's laughter wasn't at Lovett's expense. It had taken years to unlearn the small, knee-jerk reaction of defensiveness, years to feel like he was finally beginning to understand the shorthand he'd never had the privilege to be a part of, and by the time it'd happened, well—Lovett was already halfway out the door, about to fly to the other side of the country.

"Why are you bringing that up now?" Tommy says, idly strumming at his guitar in their shared office.

"Just free associating about your kind," Lovett says, emphasizing the last two words just to watch Tommy roll his eyes. He sinks back into the couch and starts flipping through the twenty different Wayfair tabs he has open. "So many rules, you know?"

Through pure osmosis, Lovett also learned, over the years, that a lot of the folklore surrounding vampires was patently false. They could grow old if they wanted, could eat real food and have real kids and walk around in the real sunlight. Even garlic was fine unless you were actually allergic. Everything, in essence, was contingent on a steady supply of blood. Jon loved the flavor packets that came with his Dunkin order. Tommy took his straight up, no frills, the way he had since birth.

He'd grown up with a vampire dad and a human mom; Thomas Vietor III came from a long line of distinguished vampires who had served in the first militias created for that purpose. In the end, Tommy explained once while excessively drunk on Lovett's squashy couch at 1309, Louise hadn't been able to take the lifestyle. As he and Taylor had grown older, he understood a little better what his mother had had to deal with.

Jon, in this as in most things, was more forthcoming about how he'd been turned: later in life, at a house party in Worcester, passed out on someone's lawn. "Woke up with a killer hangover and a bruise on my neck that didn't go away for weeks," he told Lovett the second time they'd ever spoken to each other, first time face to face, at a Starbucks two blocks away from the White House during Lovett's last interview for the speechwriting job. Jon had adapted to the virus with the type of verve and determination that most of his fellow classmates reserved for particularly intimidating finals, and he'd graduated valedictorian, because of course. A tricky little thing like vampirism wasn't going to hold him back from anything.

Presently, he plops down next to Lovett on the couch with Leo in his lap, leans over to peer at his computer screen. "Picking stuff out for the new house?" he asks, too light to be casual.

"Yeah," Lovett says, slouching lower, chin almost touching his chest. "The only two pieces of furniture I have in the place are my bed and the dresser."

"When are you gonna invite us over?" Tommy says. His fingers have stilled on the guitar.

"The only two pieces of furniture I have in the place are my bed and the dresser," Lovett repeats, hedging. The truth is, at the very least, he could use the help unpacking all his boxes. Spencer's been out of town for the past few weeks, doing whatever the fuck it is that vice presidents of major media conglomerates do. Vampires are stronger than humans, anyway. Lovett remembers plying Tommy with several six-packs of blood from the fancy butcher down the street when he was moving out of the old townhouse in DC.

"It's been, what, four months, give or take?" Jon adds, raising his eyebrows. "Not that I've been keeping count or anything."

"We've been on tour," Lovett says, but it sounds weak, even to him. Inviting vampires in: it's the polite thing to do. Lovett picked up early on that open spaces didn't count, and with the way people lived now, most spaces were open. He had genuinely thought it was a formality until the speechwriters flew to England, and Jon, pink-faced and courteous, had run into an invisible wall trying to get into Buckingham Palace.

"It's an _administrative building_ ," Lovett muttered later, after they'd had to call one of the lesser princes over to formally invite Jon in. "People do business here all the damn time."

"Still the queen's house, though," Jon said, the blip in their schedule sliding right off him like water. If it had been Lovett, his head would probably have exploded from shame—but it wasn't. Jon had floated through the rest of the day as cheerful as ever.

He doesn't look nearly as unruffled now, a wrinkle in his brow, hands arranging and rearranging Leo's paws in his lap until the dog leaps from his grasp with a huff and pads off to find his sister.

"Just give me a little more time," Lovett says, yanking his laptop closer to his face, and adds a new end table to his cart.

 

 

They're not as easy to shake off once Travis lets slip that he's come over. "What?" Jon squawks in the middle of their extremely important staff meeting later that morning. "You've been to Lovett's house?"

Travis sends Lovett a quick glance and shrugs. "He wanted me to work on some stuff after the show a couple weeks ago. I said, 'Only if you provide me dinner!' and he called my bluff. We got Taco Bell on the way back from the Improv." Tommy's staring very intensely at the grain of the conference table, trying to bore through it with his eyes like he's fucking Superman or something.

"Guys," Sarah says, circling back around to the topic at hand. "Like I said: we haven't quite ironed out the final overtime policy yet, but Neil and I are working on one. Just wanted to provide an update."

"Thanks, Sarah," Lovett says, breezier than he feels. "How about HR?"

They break for lunch after the meeting, a gaggle of employees following Justine out the door to put in their orders for Chinese takeout. "It's not actually that big of a deal," Lovett mumbles, shuffling to his feet, Pundit trotting after him. He can feel Jon's gaze settle heavily on the back of his neck.

"No," Tommy says pointedly. "It isn't."

"I'm just not ready to have, like, real humans at the house yet," he continues. "No offense, Travis."

"None taken," Travis says, dry. "My inhuman body felt very comfortable on the sofa in the living room while you fed your dog."

"The sofa?" Jon says, scandalized. "You said all you had in the house was your bed and the dresser."

Travis veers away toward his desk, sensing trouble and wisely choosing to avoid it for once. Lovett sighs. "I was exaggerating," he says, throwing his hands up. "People do that sometimes, Favreau."

"We're gonna start thinking you have some anti-vampire shrine set up at the new place if you keep this up," Tommy says. It sounds like a joke, but the corners of his eyes are tight. Lovett laughs, too loud, and makes a beeline for the kitchen. He needs Cheez-Its.

 

 

The problem is really the opposite, if he's being honest with himself. Lovett left DC at the very tail end of his twenties; four years later, Jon and Tommy followed him and moved in about six seconds and six hours away, respectively. Since Tommy joined them in Los Angeles, Lovett's gone maybe two days at a time without seeing them, max.

And it's not bad. It feels too good, actually, being around Jon's sunny smile and gratifying laughter all the time, strolling into the office two hours late to see a fresh iced latte on his desk, Tommy's name scrawled on the cup. Those first few months, when Crooked was still just a dream being cooked up in Jon Favreau's living room, Lovett had looked up from a dining table strewn with Diet Cokes and half-empty takeout boxes, seen Tommy dozed off on the couch with his feet hanging off the edge, Jon still tapping away at his laptop, and thought, without avarice or artifice: _Wouldn't it be nice to have this forever?_

If Lovett's being honest, having a space to himself where Jon and Tommy can't be isn't a relief, per se, but it does make him feel a little less like there's an anvil lying on his chest. The last time he thought he might fuck things up by wanting too much, he'd moved across the country and tried wanting something else instead. He likes where he is now. He doesn't want to lose it.

 

 

People start trickling out of the office around six. Lovett keeps his ass parked on the couch until it feels numb and Pundit's circling his legs whining for her first dinner. After one more minute of fruitless scrolling to find houseplants that say _I'm a mature adult who's in control of my life_ without actually requiring that much work, he says, "Fuck, I'm done for the day," slamming his laptop shut.

When he looks up, Jon and Tommy are sharing a significant look. Jon always says vampires can't read people's thoughts or emotions, but Lovett has his suspicions. The Boston bozo hivemind is too much to deal with, sometimes.

Lovett ignores them and shoves his computer into his backpack. On the other side of the office, Jon mirrors his movements. Tommy's apparently already been packed up and ready to go this whole time. "We got Travis to cough up your address," he says, grimly determined, shouldering his messenger bag.

"Please tell me you didn't threaten to fire him again," Lovett says, mouth twitching despite himself. "You understand that this _is_ why we need an HR department, right?"

"Desperate times," Jon says, clipping Leo's lead to his collar.

"You aren't seriously thinking of following me back, right?" Lovett says. He marches out of the office, backpack bouncing against his spine. Jon hits the down button on the elevators when they get there. "I feel like I've seen several pornos that start like this."

Lovett sneaks a glance at the two of them. His typical strategy of embarrassing them enough until they drop the subject at hand doesn't actually seem to be working this time, which is more than a little disconcerting. Tommy's looking right at him, face kind of intense, and Lovett's reminded of the fact that he can never keep up with their supernatural strength at the gym. He's never seen their eyes flash red before, but he's heard the stories.

The first time the boys had gotten stoned together at the townhouse, they'd managed to goad Tommy into playing Truth or Dare with them. The stuff about his mom had come later, but first, Michael asked, giggling into his beer, "Can you turn into a bat?" It'd seemed, at the time, like the funniest thing in the world.

"Okay, that question doesn't count," Cody said, shoving Michael's shoulder as Tommy rolled his eyes. "Obviously he can't."

"Have you ever tried real human blood?" Lovett volunteered instead, head hanging off the sofa. Upside-down, Tommy's face looked sterner than usual.

"Oh, yeah," Michael said, waggling his eyebrows. "Isn't getting bitten by a vampire like, a big fetish thing?"

"Oh my God," Tommy said. He dragged a hand across his mouth and shook his head. "It's—a bunch of different things, I guess, to different people. Territory marking, power enhancer, sometimes a sex thing. Human blood is more potent, you know? I've only had it once."

"Dish," Cody said immediately.

Tommy grinned, canines flashing in the low light, and shook his head again. "Not my turn anymore," he said, eyes dancing, and proceeded to dare Michael to chug the rest of the PBR in the fridge.

It's always warm in Los Angeles, the sun's generous beams making heat rise off the asphalt. When they step out of the air-conditioned lobby and into the parking lot, Lovett shivers anyway.

 

 

The new house is a ten minute drive from the office, twenty with traffic. Lovett's lost sight of the two Audis trailing behind him by the time he passes the Chipotle closest to the office. Pundit hops out after he parks in the garage, circles to her food bowl in the gleaming kitchen he's barely used in the past two months. "Alright, alright," he says, opening her cabinet and pulling the kibble out. "There. Don't eat too fast, it's bad for you."

His doorbell goes off half an hour later, when he's flipping through Postmates trying to decide whether he wants pizza or a burrito. He'd recognize the twin silhouettes beyond the frosted glass anywhere.

"Hey," Jon says, lifting the paper bag in his hand. Leo yips. Behind them, Tommy leans against the brick wall, Lucca in his arms. "We brought food."

Tommy lets Lucca down, and she rushes past Lovett's legs before he can do something stupid, like shut the door in their faces. "Oh no," Tommy says blandly. "Now you have to let us in."

"That's low," Lovett says. He's already sweating at the armpits. He wonders if Jon and Tommy can smell it over the waft of carnitas and salsa from the take-out bag.

"Your burrito is gonna get cold," Jon offers.

"Is it wrong," Lovett says abruptly, "to just want a little bit of space?" Jon flinches, the corners of his mouth tilting down. "You know I have other friends, right? We don't need to hang out all the time. I don't _need_ you to—"

"Did we do something to offend you?" Tommy cuts in, smooth and even.

"I could pull out the full list of grievances if you like," Lovett tries, but nobody laughs. He swallows thickly, stomach growling. Looks down at the paper bag clutched in Jon's left hand, an olive branch for something they don't even really understand, trying to make amends for circumstances out of their control.

That's what Lovett does: he yells about every minor inconvenience but can never bring himself to have the hard conversations about things that matter. It's always easier to run away.

"Sorry," he says, scrubbing his hand over his mouth. "It's not anything you did." From somewhere inside the house Pundit starts barking like crazy; Lucca's probably stealing her dinner. Tommy takes an automatic step forward, but when he bumps up against the threshold, the shock of it makes him recoil. "Sorry," Lovett repeats, feeling a little light-headed, the confluence of external stressors too overwhelming. "I'll go get your dog—"

"Lovett," Jon says, as testy as Lovett's ever heard him. "Look, we just want you to be able to talk about this stuff with us."

"What stuff?" Lovett says, suddenly so angry that he can't stop the words from bubbling up his throat. "You get my stunning political commentary every day, all my best jokes and my dumbest puns, almost every waking hour of my goddamn life. And then I come home to this big empty house that I bought because I thought it was the thing to do—because being in my thirties is supposed to mean home ownership and settling down and so what if the boomers got to me—and I _still_ can't stop thinking about you, our matching dogs and a shared corner office with a view. There's no fucking brainspace left for anything else because you've got that, too. Don't you already have enough?"

Before either of them can say anything, Lovett whirls around on his heel, face burning, and stomps toward the kitchen. Predictably, Pundit's staring forlornly at her bowl as Lucca sticks her snout in for the last few bites of kibble.

He leans against the island for a long moment, closes his eyes and exhales. He wants to turn into a fucking sea urchin right now, prickly and poisonous and far away, somewhere deep in the ocean where no one can find him, where he doesn't have to rely on anyone. Always does when he feels like he's said too much, overexposed the soft lining of his insides, scooped them out for everyone to see.

After another second of Pundit's sad whining, Lovett steels himself, leans down to scoop a squirming Lucca into his arms, and marches back the way he came. Leo's still sitting politely at the door. Jon and Tommy have their heads bent together at the front door, no doubt conferring about Lovett's outburst, but they look up again when Lovett returns.

Lucca's settled down, not trying to get away anymore, head craned up to lick at the underside of Lovett's chin. It's difficult to be mad when there's a labradoodle trying to kiss your mouth, and Lovett deflates a little. Jon studies him for a minute, brown eyes bright, and then he says, "For what it's worth, Lovett, me too."

Lovett tenses up, and Lucca lets out a woof of protest. "What?"

"Can't stop thinking about you either," Jon says, so easy that it makes Lovett want to get angry again, but then Jon's stepping so close that Lovett can smell his spicy aftershave, and the fury dies in his throat. "Which wild neon sneakers you're going to wear to the office, the terrible accents you'll try out. How you'll doze off on the couch in the afternoon like you always used to at the White House."

"Why do you think we keep bugging you to come over?" Tommy says. They're pressed side to side at the threshold of Lovett's house, looming. Tommy sticks an elbow out to nudge Jon's gut. "This one was going crazy trying to figure out what the hell the problem was."

"As if you weren't," Jon retorts. He thwacks Tommy's arm hard with the back of his hand, but he's smiling.

"What are you trying to say?" Lovett says, voice cracking.

"We love you too, dumbass," Jon says, shrugging a little helplessly, and Lovett thinks _oh_ and then _oh, fuck_ , throat going hot and tight. He has to lean against the doorframe for a moment, dizzy again. The spikes and crashes of adrenaline are too much to handle at this age. Lucca wriggles out of his arms and hops down to the floor, winding herself around his ankles before chasing Leo into the house.

Lovett looks up at the two of them, Jon's hopeful expression and Tommy's focused one, and _wants_ so badly that he can barely speak. "What if I don't believe you?" he manages.

"If you invite us in," Tommy says, rough with promise, "we can show you how much."

"Shut up," Lovett says reflexively, too sharp, stepping back on wobbly legs and rubbing his eyes with both hands. For a moment, Jon's face falls. "Jesus Christ," Lovett continues, shaking his head. "Alright. Alright, fine. Come in, then."

Jon nearly trips over his own feet, half-falls over the threshold. Tommy walks in at a less harried pace, shutting the door behind him. They both make a beeline straight toward Lovett, and for a thrilling moment Lovett thinks he sees their eyes flash red, wonders if they're going to bite him. Then Jon drops the Chipotle bag next to the key bowl, and Tommy sidles up to corner Lovett against the wall, and they're kissing instead, Jon's mouth soft and wet and plush. It's too late for Lovett to feel self-conscious about how his lips are slightly chapped or that his breath probably isn't great right now. The moment Jon pulls back, Tommy takes his place, the big, broad hand that brushes up his side making him shiver.

Lovett's run clean out of breath by the time they break apart. He sucks in a big gulp of air as Tommy turns toward Jon, and then they're kissing too, brief and hard, an image that shoots straight down Lovett's spine to pool in his gut.

"That convincing enough?" Jon says, face pink.

"Uh," Lovett says, faint. "I guess." Tommy chuckles, muffled by the hand covering his mouth. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Jon says, at the same time that Tommy raises his eyebrows and says, "We can smell how fast your heart is beating, so there's no point in trying to hide it."

"You fucking weirdos," Lovett mutters, feeling his whole body flush, reaching for something to pivot to. "Have you been making out without me?"

Jon coughs delicately, and Tommy's ears turn red. "Should've invited us over earlier, that's all I'm saying."

"Hm," Lovett says, trying to weigh, through the fuzziness in his head, the pros and cons of pressing further. A beat later, his stomach lets out a frankly frightening noise, and he gives up, reaches over to snatch the paper bag off his console table, and slides around Tommy toward the living room. "Don't think you're off the hook, but I want my burrito more than I feel like berating you right now."

"Yeah, okay," Jon says, laughter mixing in with Tommy's behind him, the sound bouncing off the arched ceilings and filling the house. Lovett thinks, despite himself and saccharine as all hell, that it finally feels a little more like a home.

"So you gonna show us around the place or what?" Tommy says.

"After food," Lovett says decisively, plopping down on the couch. In the corner of the room, Leo and Lucca are fighting over a chew-toy while Pundit lolls on the armrest and watches. Tommy kicks back on Lovett's left and digs the remote out of the couch while Jon unpacks the take-out bag, passes Lovett his food. "Thanks," Lovett says, and then: "Sorry," mumbled under his breath, eyes burning a little. "I didn't mean to be such a, uh, shitheel."

"We know," Jon says, knocking their elbows together. "You can make it up to us," Tommy says meaningfully, and Lovett laughs, stomach flipping, feeling lighter than he has in months.

"Be careful what you wish for, Vietor," Lovett says, nestling back into the couch, and lifts his fork to his mouth.

 

 

*

 

 

The week before his housewarming party, Lovett finally gives up trying to unpack everything. "I was gonna say that no one's going to judge you," Tommy says the Saturday of, eyeing the boxes haphazardly piled on top of each other, nearly overflowing out of the laundry room, "but I'm judging you a little bit."

Lovett yanks the door shut. "Listen."

"It's been almost half a year, Lovett. Put it into storage if you don't need it."

Lovett slouches against the kitchen counter and covers his face with his hands. "How do we as humans collect so much _stuff_?"

"If you'd let us lend you a hand…" Jon says, trailing off when Lovett snorts.

"You guys really aren't that much help." The last time they'd come over, ostensibly to get through the last of his boxes and build an IKEA bookshelf, they found Lovett's stash of sex toys and got distracted for the next few hours instead.

Alright, so maybe that had been a little bit Lovett's fault, too, but the point still stands. There are just way better things to be doing than going through the stuff that he's been lugging around with him since college. Playing Breath of the Wild while inhaling pizza, or pushing Jon down in bed and disappearing beneath the sheets, or crawling into Tommy's lap and kissing him until he's pink all over. Jon must be thinking about it too, because he licks his lips and takes a step closer, eyes wide and dark, and then—

Someone rings the doorbell, once, twice. Lovett straightens up with a huff. "Later," he says, trying and failing to sound stern, and trots out to greet the first guests.

It's a fine party, people dropping by all afternoon bearing gifts of alcohol and potted plants and various kitchen appliances that will absolutely be left to collect dust in some high cabinet. Spencer and Brendan arrive late with six packs of Diet Coke and a new Settlers of Catan expansion pack, which imbues a sense of normalcy to the whole affair. Lovett gives enough tours of the house that it's basically his workout for the day, all the cardio he needs, and manages to studiously avoid showing anyone the laundry room. The dogs probably get the best end of the deal: all they have to do is lie around, get scritched, and accept the treats the humans feed them.

Travis and Jen arrive at the same time the Domino's pizza delivery guy does. "Have I been upgraded to real human being now, and if yes, does it get me a raise?" Travis asks, catching the beer Tommy tosses at him.

Lovett laughs around a mouthful of pepperoni. "Well, when you put it that way…"

"It's fine, just tell him to go sit with the dogs," Jen says. She grins when Travis sticks his tongue out at her.

By the time the last people that aren't Jon and Tommy trickle out of the house, the sun's already starting to set, streaks of purple creeping up into orange low in the sky. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to," Lovett says in the kitchen, after, trying to cram one more pizza box into a bulging trash bag. "I got it under control."

Tommy tugs it out of his hands and ties it up with ease, throwing Jon a look. There's a brief pause, and then Jon says, as gentle as he always is, "Lovett, we're always going to want to."

In the past two months, Lovett's learned a lot: that Jon likes being the little spoon, that Tommy's got a constellation of freckles on his inner thighs, that the bed Lovett bought when he moved into this house definitely isn't big enough to comfortably fit three grown men, but they keep trying anyway. He's still trying to learn how to not catastrophize about everything, how to internalize the good thing while he has it, but he thinks, slowly, he'll get there.

"Can you come here?" Lovett says, and Jon does, stepping into the circle of his arms as Tommy drops the trash bag and crowds in behind him. Kissing still feels new enough to make his heart immediately start beating in double-time. Jon tastes like beer and pizza, not the most stunning combination in the world, but Lovett's breath is still burning up in his chest.

They haven't bitten him yet. Lovett doesn't know if he's allowed to ask them to, isn't sure how to phrase it even if he was, but Jon bites down on his lower lip, canines sharp, and Lovett's spine goes molten and gooey just thinking about it.

He's breathing hard when they break apart. Lovett lets his head loll back against Tommy's shoulder; Jon's eyes are half-lidded, watching him. "You, um," Lovett says, turning a little to expose his neck. Jon inhales sharply. "If you want, you could…"

One of Tommy's hands comes up to tighten around Lovett's elbow. "Lovett—"

"I just," he says, fumbling with the words, "I keep wondering about how it might feel, and I thought—I trust you, both of you, and—"

"I, uh, I've never done it before," Jon murmurs, eyes wide and round. "Tom, you—will it turn him?"

"It shouldn't." Lovett feels Tommy shifting behind him, propping him up better. "Here, just—let me. Like this." He reaches out, hand pale against the tan skin at Jon's nape, and pulls him in.

For a minute, all Lovett feels is Jon's mouth on his neck, warm and wet, lips brushing against his pulse point. The graze of Jon's teeth doesn't come until later, an acute sting against his skin that dulls just as quickly, and then he just feels flushed and languid, like the room's gotten twenty degrees hotter in the span of a breath. He sags against Tommy, dazed, as Jon lifts his head again and licks his lips.

Lovett blinks. It takes a Herculean effort for him to focus, but he manages it. Jon's tooth gap is still there, stained red now with blood, _Lovett's_ blood, and everything he learned way back in ninth grade biology tells him that he shouldn't be getting hard, that it shouldn't even be possible, but fuck, he is.

"Hey," Tommy says, gruff, and then he and Jon are kissing, Lovett crushed between them. Jon makes a soft, high noise in his throat, the tremor in his body running through theirs, too. Tommy's grip on his arm goes tight enough to bruise, and Lovett inhales through his nose, smells the metallic tang hanging in the air. When he reaches up to touch his own neck, hand shaking, there's no puncture wound.

They're all panting a little when Jon steps away this time. Lovett nearly slides to the floor without the frontal support, but Tommy's arm winds around his waist, props him up like he weighs nothing. "Lovett," Jon says, vaguely alarmed, but Lovett shakes his head.

"I feel great," he says, drawing the vowel out long.

"You sound drunk," Jon counters, but the corner of his mouth lifts. He comes around to Lovett's other side. After a disorienting moment, they're at the door to the bedroom, and then the foot of the bed, Tommy gently laying him down on the mattress.

"I bet this whole thing," Lovett mumbles, staring at the ceiling, "was just a long con to make me your personal blood bag. And I gotta say, I think I'm fine with it."

"Shut up, Lovett," Tommy says, sounding fond. "God, if I'd known you'd be like this—"

Lovett frowns, brow furrowed. "You said you'd done it before!"

"I've had human blood, sure, but it wasn't, like, fresh. It wasn't like this." Tommy chucks Lovett's chin. "Yours is very good, for the record."

"Hell yeah it is."

Jon's face swims back into view, sharp and clear against the blurriness of the rest of the room, skin almost glowing. "Feel like I could run a marathon right now," he says.

"Oh." Lovett blinks again, slower this time. The bed sinks under the combined weight of the three of them, and somewhere in the intervening beat, someone's managed to remove Lovett's shirt. That's the right idea. "Instead of running, which is boring, we should, you know. Fuck."

"Strong argument," Tommy says, laughing, fingers already reaching down to unbuckle his own belt. Jon slides beneath the duvet, tugging Lovett's sweatpants to his knees. Lovett feels his heart skip a beat when Jon smiles up at him, canines still tapered to a fine point, and then his mouth is on Lovett's dick, hot and tight.

Lovett always likes it better when it hurts a little, but this is something else entirely: he's too boneless to buck up against Jon, but he shudders at the feeling of Jon's tongue pushing up against the head, the measured, unmistakable feeling of Jon's teeth grazing his soft skin. It's not nearly enough to draw blood, but something about knowing that Jon hasn't retracted his fangs makes Lovett twitch against the roof of Jon's mouth.

Tommy is a steady presence next to him, holding him in place. "Can I?" Lovett hears him ask, and Lovett groans something that must sound enough like _yes_ , because the next moment, another stinging feeling blooms across his neck. Lovett curls his hands up in the sheets, heart pounding like a timpani in his chest, thighs tense and stomach swooping, and then everything in his field of vision fuzzes out.

"Lovett," someone says, close to his ear, an indeterminate amount of time later. Lovett blinks sweat out of his eyes. Jon's still bent between his legs, gazing up at him, expression concerned. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as Lovett shakes his head, tries to clear some of the wooziness.

"You okay?" Jon asks, throaty.

"I think so," Lovett says, voice embarrassingly thin. "Did I come already?"

"Yeah," Tommy says, pinching Lovett's shoulder. "Might have passed out for a minute there, too."

"Mm," Lovett says. He shifts back against the headboard. "I kind of feel like I just got run over by a truck, but in a good way."

Jon laughs, and Tommy shakes his head, the corner of his mouth rising. Lovett watches him adjust the bulge in his boxer-briefs. "So you're not gonna help me with this, then?"

"You just drank my blood, and now you want me to get you off?" Lovett presses a hand to his chest, faux taken aback. "Greedy."

Jon hauls himself up. "You could watch," he says, pressing his mouth to Tommy's, the kiss as filthy as he can make it. Tommy can probably still taste Lovett on Jon's tongue; Lovett's stomach trembles again just thinking about it.

"Give me a minute to catch my breath," Lovett says. He reaches out to brush Jon's spine, smiles when Jon leans into it.

Tommy hums, cupping Jon's neck with his hands, meeting Lovett's eyes. "Take all the time you need," he says, turning to drop a kiss to Lovett's shoulder, and dives back in. There will be other opportunities for Lovett to get a hand down Tommy's pants, to taste himself on Jon's tongue, to squirm in between them, complain too loudly about how hot it is, and stay right there. For now, all Lovett has to do is sit back and enjoy the show.


End file.
